


A Wholeness of His Own

by Zeledus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Ancient magic, Bonding, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Motherly Narcissa, Romance, Slash, Snaky Voldemort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:38:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeledus/pseuds/Zeledus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of Voldemort's life, his soul split and mangled and living his life in the cell that Grindelwald died in, Harry returns to find closure at last and confront the man that had taken so much of his life away. He expects a remorseless monster, no different than before. Instead he finds a broken, shattered man, lost to hallucinations and violent seizures and living on a thin thread of life. Harry is clutched by pity and frees Voldemort, bringing him to his home to nurse back to heath. Voldemort and Harry begin a journey to put the broken pieces of Voldemort's soul back together. Voldemort finds that he is more human than he thought, and perhaps love really is the greatest power of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Leap of Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Voldemort sympathy, language, explicit slash, large age gap, brief romance with a snaky Voldemort (until his body is restored to its true form).
> 
> A/N: So, I know I already have a Harry/Tom story, but this idea is so drastically different, and it's been tugging at my fingers, so here you go.
> 
> Also; come check out my blog. It's exclusively for my fanfiction. You can come ask me questions, submit requests, etc.  
> [my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/zeledus)

"You sure you wanna do this, mate? Just 'cause he's locked up don't mean he ain't dangerous." Harry Potter turned to the guard of Nurmengard, his face set in stony determination. He was here for a reason and he wouldn't leave without carrying through with it.

"I'm sure." He replied stiffly, following the guard up an endless set of narrow, dim stairs. It was freezing and damp on the top floor of the prison. He imagined that Azkaban would feel downright inviting compared to the desolation of Nurmengard prison. Before him stood a thick stone wall, thin cracks showing where the "door" was. There was no way to get in, and no way to get out. You couldn't take any chances with dark lords.

"I'm gonna have to lock you in with 'im." The guard said gloomily, handing Harry a small stone with an indent the size of his thumb. "Rub your thumb along that when you need to come out." Harry nodded once, his eyes on the door in steely resolve. The guard gave him a look somewhere between pity and disbelief and stepped forward to the door. It slid in slightly at his touch, creating a grating noise of stone upon stone as it did so. Taking a deep breath, Harry pushed the door in further, entering the cell. The door swung shut behind him with finality and shadowed the cell in oppressive darkness. The windowless room gave Harry a sense of dreaded claustrophobia. Anti-magic enchantments snuffed out his magic, leaving Harry with a feeling of helplessness. He was locked in a room with Voldemort, powerless.

Of course, so was Voldemort, Harry reasoned. Indeed, Voldemort didn't make for an intimidating presence. In fact, it took Harry a moment to see him. He was little more than a skeletal glow in the corner, folded into himself. When his gaze lifted, his eyes were not the vivid scarlet of Harry's nightmares. His stare was pale pink, clouded over with cataracts and unable to focus clearly on the other man in the room. It was unnerving to look into those eyes. 

Harry waited for the anger, the fear, the overwhelming hatred to bloom in his chest. None of those came. Instead, a sharp shard of pity shoved into his heart. This man…this was no Voldemort. This was not the same man who had killed his parents, or who had risen in the graveyard.This man was broken, and he was dying. Harry struggled with himself, he knew it really was Voldemort before him. This man had ruined his entire life. He had taken so much away from Harry. Why should he care if he was locked up and rotting away? He didn't know why, but he did. He felt no satisfaction seeing Voldemort in this state. Instead he just felt...empty. In any case, he knew he couldn't leave him here to die. No one deserved that.

"Potter…" A thin, raspy voice broke Harry of his thoughts. He blinked, Voldemort's emaciated form coming back into focus. His face was contorted with pain, an almost…pleading look in his eyes.

"Kill…me." It was like a dagger to his chest. Harry watched in horror as the man's eyes rolled into the back of head. His body seized, the thin limbs curling even further into themselves as his entire body shook violently. He was gasping for breath, foam dripping down his chin. Harry was at his side without a second thought, his hands hovering uncertainly over him - what did you do for seizures? - before finally settling over his shoulders firmly. The expected searing pain did not come, but Harry would consider that later. He turned Voldemort's frighteningly light body on his side, swallowing thickly when red tinted foam dripped to the floor.

He had to get him out of here. With magic repressed in the cell, he had no choice but to lift him into his arms. It was disturbingly easy, his body nothing but bones and skin at this point. He held him tightly, trying to control the shudders that still racked his body. He rubbed his thumb along the stone, pressing up against the wall next to the door. When the door swung open, he pushed it open further with his foot and swung into the other room, catching the side of the guard's face with his elbow. He went down with a grunt. Harry drew his wand hastily, leveling it at the guard.

" _Obliviate."_

* * *

He ignored the nagging feeling of guilt, pushing aside the need to justify his admittedly questionable actions for the time being. Apparating with an indisposed Voldemort in his arms was tricky, if only because Harry was frightened he would splinch his head off. He managed to apparate into his home safely, though his heart pounded with anxiety. He made his way through the dark house and into the guest room.

It was uncanny, for lack of a better word, to be tucking Lord Voldemort into his spare bed. He laid his long, spidery limbs out on the bed, stepped back slightly, and stared. Gods, what was he _doing?_ He had spent most of his life either running away from, or trying to kill, this man. And here he was, committing a felony and tucking the greatest dark lord in history into his bed. Surely this was the craziest thing he'd ever done.

Didn't matter, though. He couldn't just let him die. With this resolve he started to work. He started with cleaning him, replacing his dirty shreds of clothing with soft grey cotton pants and a white T-shirt, which he had to spell to fit his thin, but taller frame. It was utterly strange to see him in muggle clothing, and more so, _Harry's_ muggle clothing. He left to make him some light soup, and when he returned he was surprised to see his eyes were open and disoriented. They slid over to Harry, and in a disturbingly human gesture, his forehead creased in confusion. Harry pulled a chair over and sat down, offering him a spoonful of soup as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Those pale pink eyes looked down at the soup, and then back up at Harry slowly. Harry set his face and held his gaze, holding out the soup expectantly. He opened his mouth without a word, and so Harry Potter fed the Dark Lord.

* * *

"So, let me know if I have this straight. You strolled into Nurmengard to _visit_ the Dark Lord, felt sorry for him, and then _kidnapped him so you could nurse him back to health in your own home?"_ Severus' voice was rising to an incredulous yell now and Harry was briefly impressed with the amount of emotion he was showing. He rubbed the back of neck sheepishly.

"I know it sounds crazy…"

"It _sounds crazy_ , Potter?" Severus' tone was lowered now, and he had a distinctly dangerous set to his face.

"Hey, come off it. Can't you call me Harry?" The potion master looked at him dryly.

"I won't do it." He clipped, standing up with a flourish of robes. Harry jumped after him, catching his wrist.

"Please, look, I know this is insane. And there's a distinct possibility that he will strangle me in my sleep, but…you should see him, Severus. He is not the same man. He's….he's dying and I think that if I help him, I can, I dunno, change him."

"Are you even listening to yourself, Potter? _Change him_? He might be weak and pathetic now, but I can assure you, he is _exactly the same man_."

"Maybe he will be at first, but I have…a theory. If you sit down, I'll explain it to you. If you still think I'm crazy you can leave, but let me talk, please." Severus looked as if he was struggling, micro-expressions of annoyance and distress flashing across his face, but he finally sighed and sat down once more.

"Do me a favor and pour me some whiskey at least. The bloody Dark Lord is right next door to me, for Merlin's sake." The younger man obliged, handing Severus his drink and taking a seat near him. Severus took a generous pull and then gestured with his hand.

"Alright, go on then." He said, his tone resigned.

"Okay, well, first off, Voldemort wasn't always like this. Something _made_ him this way. It's not surprising, really, considering his childhood. He was raised in a filthy, horrible muggle orphanage, so he's been set up to hate muggles from the very beginning. I saw Dumbledore's first memory of him, when he was eleven in the orphanage. He wasn't an evil child, he was a hurt child who clung to his magic as a way to escape and cope with the torment he was facing at that orphanage."

"Have you considered the fact that he might be inherently evil? Some people are." Harry shook his head, trailing his fingers of the rim of his whiskey.

"I don't think so. I think it was situational evil. It started in that orphanage, an as he got older, well, he wasn't really evil, Severus. He was misguided, and it all went downhill after he opened the chamber. After that he seemed to…fall apart, loose himself, bit by bit. Dumbledore called them horcruxes. He split his soul up." Harry shuddered lightly.

"And you think you can help him put his soul back together?" Severus asked slowly, training his dark eyes on Harry. The younger man nodded, and then looked conflicted.

"Maybe. I don't know. But I have to try. I feel…connected to him. Like…" Severus' eyes darkened and his mouth pulled tight.

"Like there's a piece of him inside you." He stated. Harry turned his eyes to him slowly.

"Yeah…how…" Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers wearily.

"I do wish the headmaster would tell you these things." Harry sat up straighter, a strange mix of alarm and excitement on his face.

"He did mention something like that in my second year. He told me I was a parselmouth because some of Voldemort stayed with me after he tried to kill me as a baby. That isn't…that can't be a…a…"

"Horcrux? It most certainly is. Or I should say, you are." Harry's eyes widened, and he slumped back into his chair.

"Seven, then." He muttered.

" _Seven?_ " Severus asked incredulously. He shook his head.

"No, it's not possible. If he's split his soul into seven parts, there's no going back. You have to feel remorse to get those pieces back and at this point he's barely a human being. He isn't capable of remorse."

"Maybe he used to be…" Harry said softly.

"Maybe, but not now. Have you ever seen any evidence we was capable of feeling anything? That man is a monster."

"He asked me to kill him." Harry stated, looking at Severus. "In the cell, I came inside and he asked me to kill him. Do you think the Voldemort we knew would ever willingly give into death? That cell has changed him, and maybe I can keep changing him."

Severus was silent for a long moment and then he sighed deeply.

"I'll bring the potions in the morning. Keep him fed and warm until then." The younger man looked at him in surprise and sudden, overwhelming gratitude.

"Thank you, Severus." The potion's master glared at him half-heartedly.

"Don't thank me, just make sure you're right." He snapped, disapparating with a swirl of black robes.

* * *

He was asleep when Harry came to check on him. He was looking only slightly better than when he had found him. He was still pale as a ghost and painfully thin. His seizures had lessened, but there were times he wasn't quite all there. He had dreadful nightmares, but right now he looked peaceful. And then his eyes fluttered open. He stared at the ceiling as he spoke quietly.

"Are you enjoying this, Potter? Tending the wound before you cruelly rub salt into it?"

"That's not what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing? Why didn't you just kill me when you had the chance?"

"Because I don't want to kill you. I want to help you." There was a strange, strangled noise and Harry realized it was a bitter sort of laugh.

"This is the greatest irony."

"Yes, it probably is."


	2. Connection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have sat down to go over my plans for this story and realized a couple things don't line up with where I want this to go, so there are slight changes in the first chapter. Just be aware of that. I won't type them out because it'll ruin the surprises and the natural unfolding of things. Sorry about my lack of foresight.

* * *

"Are you sure he's asleep?" Severus asked warily, eyeing the door to Voldemort's room. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes at the potions master. For one so usually composed, Severus was practically having a panic attack. It gave Harry a sort of morbid pleasure to see Severus uncomfortable, though he supposed the man might have a point.

"Yes, he's asleep. Would you like me to spell him to make sure?" He asked sarcastically.

"Yes." Severus stated dryly. Harry sighed, giving the older man a withering look.

"He won't bite, Severus, he can barely speak. Can't even feed himself. I've been spooning the all-mighty Dark Lord soup for Merlin's sake." The other man didn't look comforted in the least, but nonetheless gestured for Harry to let him in, a sort of resigned look on his face. Voldemort was, in fact, asleep. He was far from peaceful, however. His body was seizing slightly, his eyelids twitching as nightmares raged behind them. He looked like death, even now. Despite all logic, Harry's heart ached with pity. He glanced over at Severus, wary about how the man was reacting to being in the same room with the man who had effectively ruined his chance at love.

Severus was stony faced, all of his emotions sealed away under the famous potions master mask. But Harry knew him better than that, had witnessed the varying moods of Severus Snape, and knew the man was struggling. Regardless of this, he stepped forward, placing a case on the bedside table. Inside the case was a plethora of colored potions ranging from the simple ones Harry could recognize such as pepper up and blood replenishing potions to others that completely escaped him, despite his prolonged exposure to two different potion masters.

Severus drew his wand, and Harry was worried for a moment that he would kill him, but he was just performing diagnostic spells, his mouth tightening and his eyes going a bit out of focus, as if he was trying to not really see the man lying before him. As if he could ignore the fact that this was the Dark Lord. He began plucking phials out of the case, lining them up on the bed one by one until there was almost a foot of potions beside the man's arm. Severus stepped back, snapping the case shut.

"That should get him stabilized for now, but I need to brew some more complex potions for the amount of mental instability he is showing. It will only get him back to the level of sanity he showed before capture, however, so I surely hope whatever you have planned works. I also need to brew something for his seizures, however they might improve as his overall health improves. I have laid the potions out, but do not expect me to feed them to him, that is where my compassion runs out."

Harry nodded, taking a seat on the bed and picking up the first potion. When he raised his eyes to the Dark Lord, he was met with his pink gaze. Those eyes lingered on him and then slid up to Severus, who had stilled, as if he could feel his eyes on his back.

"What is this? Come to poison me? You should have just left me in prison." He hissed, though his voice was weak and soft. Harry's expression didn't change, he simply uncorked a potion and held it to the man's lips.

"It's not poison, drink." He stated. Voldemort sneered slightly.

"As if I'd trust anything that Severus brewed for me."

"He's right, Harry. You should have left him in prison. Ungrateful bastard." He snapped, stalking from the room. Harry sighed, pushing the phial against the Dark Lord's thin lips.

"Well, you would have died if I'd left you there, so it doesn't really matter if this is poison – which it's not – because either way, you die, right? If I were you, I'd take your chances and drink this." Voldemort gave him a weak glare but opened his lips. Harry fed him each potion, meeting that strange gaze in silence. He gathered up the empty phials and moved to stand but a spidery hand shot out, gripping his forearm with more strength than he would have expected. The expected stab of agony did not come, but Harry was in no position to think that over. He paused, looking down at the Dark Lord.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked, his earlier hostility replaced with a hesitant sort of curiosity.

"Because when I saw you I felt sorry for you, because we're connected in a way I can't ignore, because I believe in giving people second chances. And because I know, deep down, that if things had been different, if I had been born in that orphanage, I would have ended up exactly like you."

There was something akin to shock in Voldemort's eyes, something very nearly human. His grip relaxed and his hand slipped down Harry's arm, resting strangely on top of Harry's hand in a distorted mockery of affection before Harry stood. He ignored the tingling sensation that spread over his skin as he left the room.

* * *

"This is madness, Harry" Severus stated as Harry closed the door. The younger man didn't reply as he moved to the kitchen to set the empty phials down to be washed. The older man followed him, leaning toward him against the counter.

"Harry." He said, his tone less volatile and more pleading. The younger man met his eyes apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I have to try." The other man's lips pursed in disappointment.

"I thought I raised you with better sense than this." Harry smiled despite himself, reaching up to tug on Severus' hair and smiling wider at the scowl that painted itself over his father's face.

"You raised me just fine, Sev. You are in no way responsible for my reckless stupidity." Severus rolled his eyes at this.

"I always knew they should have sorted you into Gryffindor. You may be cunning, but you have the heart of a martyr despite my earnest efforts." Severus said dryly, though Harry could tell it was said with affection.

"I learned from the best." He countered, laughing at the scandalized look on Severus' face.

"Don't give me that, Sev. You know it's true. You're the one who risked his life by double-crossing the Dark Lord. If that's not a martyr, I don't know what is."

"Regardless of your ludicrous accusations, that is hardly the point here. The point is that you have a madman in your bed and you're trying to nurse him back to health. You have no reason to believe he can be changed, you owe this man nothing, and he killed your family."

"First of all, you're my family, Sev. Secondly, I do have reason to believe he can be changed, I just have to figure out how. And thirdly, I feel like I do owe him something. I can't explain it, and there's no logic to it, but even without the horcrux, we're connected somehow. Severus, if I had been sent to an orphanage, if I hadn't had you to raise me, who could say that I wouldn't be just as barmy as Voldemort? We're…the same."

Severus went quiet at this, various emotions crossing over his face rapidly. He shook his head slightly, but sighed in resignation.

"You're insane." He said, a note of wonder in his voice.

"So you're going to help me, right?" The younger man asked hopefully.

"Merlin, what kind of father would I be if I left you alone with the bloody Dark Lord?"

"Excellent. First of all, we need to find a place to research horcruxes in detail. I somehow doubt Hogwarts would carry those sort of books, even in the restricted section." Severus nodded distractedly, thinking carefully.

"Well, there is one family that would most likely have the resources you need, but you're not going to like it."

"I have a haunch what you're going to say." Harry said warily. Severus gave him a grim smile.

"The Malfoys."

"Perfect." Harry groaned.

"You brought this upon yourself, I must remind you. And after all, you fed the Dark Lord soup, right? So you should be able to handle a couple Malfoys."

"It's just the one." Harry grumbled.

"There's nothing for it. You want to fix up the basket case, Malfoy's library will help. Hell, that's probably where the Dark Lord read it in the first place." Harry had to agree, but it didn't stop him from dreading the method. Severus was right though, there was nothing for it.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was having a rather uneventful night, as nights go. He and Narcissa were enjoying some wine by the fire, each involved in their own books. Life had been blessedly normal since the capture of the Dark Lord eight years ago and the Malfoys were glad for it. Their lives had only gotten better since their freedom. And so it was with the greatest confusion that Lucius answered Harry Potter's firecall. He hadn't really spoken with the man in about five years, though they had run into each other from time to time. They got along fine, really, but since Harry and Draco were no longer on good terms, it was rare to sincerely talk with him. Harry was oddly somber and even a little bit on edge tonight. Which might just be from the awkwardness of their extended silence. Lucius had a feeling it was something else, though, and was preparing himself for the worst as he knelt in front of the fireplace.

"Harry, to what can I owe this unexpected pleasure?" Harry's mouth tightened uncertainly.

"Lucius, I have a rather…strange favor to ask. It is not something to be discussed over fire though, would you mind if Severus and I came through?"

"Not at all, please." Lucius replied, stepping back. A moment later both Severus and Harry stepped from his fireplace, brushing off soot from their clothes. Lucius offered them a seat and a drink, which they refused, and then sat down as well, facing them expectantly.

"So, about this odd favor, Harry?" He prompted. Harry nodded, weaving his fingers together to stop his hands from fidgeting.

"First, promise me you will stay calm. What I'm about to say is a little…shocking." Lucius' eyebrows furrowed slightly but he nodded anyway. Harry sighed, bracing himself for the worst reaction possible.

"Well, earlier this week I made a visit to Nurmengard." He started. Lucius' eyebrow rose, remembering the story in the Daily Prophet about how the Dark Lord had disappeared from his cell and the guard had no memory of it. People weren't panicking yet because the guard spoke about the condition that he had been in, nearly dead. They were hoping he wasn't strong enough to do anything dangerous.

"And, well, the Dark Lord is in my bedroom." He said bluntly. Lucius' face went white and there was a clatter as Narcissa set her wine glass down harder than she had meant to.

"Good Merlin, Harry. Could you have been more crass?" Severus asked, frustrated.

Harry quickly began to explain, despite Severus' snarky comments on the state of Harry's sanity. When he was finished, both the Malfoys had relaxed minimally, though they looked shell-shocked.

"So, let me make this clear." Lucius started, crossing his legs and taking a sip of wine pompously.

"You would like to use my library so you can attempt to put the Dark Lord's soul back together?" Harry nodded affirmatively.

"And what if, say, this works, but we find he's just as much of an evil bastard as he was before?"

"I know it's risky, and it doesn't make sense, but I have always followed my instincts before and I'm not going to stop now. It's something I need to do." Harry said firmly.

"I think Harry is doing the exact right thing." Harry's gaze locked on Narcissa Malfoy in surprise. She was smiling at him gently, and Harry remembered why he had always liked the matron of the Malfoy family.

"How do you reckon that, Cissy?" Lucius asked.

"This is ancient magic that Harry is feeling. It would seem this sensitivity to magic did not end with his mother. What Harry is experiencing, this connection, it's deep and instinctual. The threads of the Dark Lord's and Harry's life are tangled, knotted together. I am guessing that seeing him so close to death tugged on these knots, and Harry reacted the only way he could. With compassion."

No one questioned her, but thought about her words in silence. If anyone were to be trusted about this it would be Narcissa, who was incredibly sensitive to magic. She had an uncanny ability to sense things that escaped others. It almost bordered on being a seer, except that she never saw the future, really. Rather she could sense the potential in magic, including the individual magical signature that all witches and wizards had. The signature would shift closer to large events in a person's life.

Harry's signature was largely silver, but if one looked closely, one could pick out small little red knots, most concentrated at his forehead, where his scar was, but also spread around his body, which indicated it was deeper than a horcrux. It affected his entire magical signature, which also told Narcissa this had been growing for quite a while now. Maybe since the very first time he and the Dark Lord met.

"So, Harry has some sort of connection with the Dark Lord. Does this mean he'll have a better chance of healing him?" Lucius asked.

"I would say so, yes." She answered.

"And why now? Why hasn't he felt this before?" Severus asked.

"Like I said, he was close to death. I imagine seeing this shocked him into feeling the connection more clearly, and it might have even changed the connection in some way." Harry considered this, thinking back to when Voldemort's hand had gripped his arm, and no pain had come. Was this the product of their changed connection? Had it changed so drastically in that one moment of pity and compassion that he could touch Voldemort without pain?

"Well, if Narcissa feels this is right, then I have little reason to argue. I trust my wife's judgment, she is rarely wrong. I will allow you to use our library. I can't help but warn you to be careful, though, Harry. Connection or not, this is a dangerous man we are dealing with."

"I know, Lucius, and thank you." As they stood to take their leave, Narcissa rose.

"Please, Harry, if you could step into the hall with me for a moment?" Harry nodded, telling Severus to go on without him. Severus obliged and he followed Narcissa out into the hall. She took his hand, her expression serious and gentle at the same time.

"I didn't want to say this in front of the men. They might not understand, and you might not understand right now either, but you have a right to know." Harry looked at her with confusion, staying silent as she explained.

"I just want you to know that this connection, especially with the horcrux, well, it's going to get a lot stronger now. Your feelings are going to change and it might be disturbing. This connection has been long in the making and in order to heal the Dark Lord as you wish, you will need to intentionally strengthen your bond to make him stable enough to accept his horcruxes back into his body. Your signatures will become even more tangled, even more muddied. You might start sharing personality traits, and you might become rather…close."

Harry took this in, and found he was not surprised. As if he had known deep down that this would happen even before Narcissa told him. He also found that it didn't bother him like he thought it should. Shouldn't the idea of being so close to the Dark Lord, sharing personality, make him uncomfortable? Or maybe their connection was already affecting him more than he thought.

He squeezed her hand and smiled in gratitude.

"Thank you, Narcissa. Really." She smiled in return, bringing him into a warm hug.

"Any time, Harry. I still consider you to be like a son, you know. I do wish you would visit more often." Harry blushed, partly from her affection and partly because he was embarrassed for not stopping to see the elder Malfoys more often.

"I do apologize, it's just…" Narcissa nodded in understanding, squeezing his shoulder lightly.

"I know, it's quite alright. I imagine I will be seeing you often now, anyway." She said.

"Yes, I suppose that's true." He agreed, stepping away. He paused, thinking of something.

"Narcissa, would you consider taking a look at him? To help me with understanding how to help our connection?" He asked, though he was worried she would be unwilling to see him. Narcissa looked a little resigned, but she nodded anyway.

"Certainly." Harry nodded in thanks, taking his leave.


	3. Agreement

“If there is any way that I can help, please let me know, Harry dear,” Narcissa said as she set a cup of tea and a scone down beside Harry on the large table. He thanked her with a smile, his eyes scanning over the expanse of the Malfoy’s library. It looked daunting, though he was sure he wouldn’t need to scour the entire library, as he knew it to be meticulously organized. Nonetheless, he felt fortunate to be who he was, someone well versed in focused research. Although, he had never taken on a subject quite so dark and taboo, as his work was focused more on his own interests – history and Wizard-Muggle relations – he still supposed the skills would transfer.

As Harry scaned over the titles in his most obvious section – Dark Arts – he mused about how unlikely his chosen profession is. Sure, he was bound to be an intellect, being raised by someone like Severus Snape would do that to anyone. He still remembered Severus’ strict rules for him as a child – read one hundred pages a day, no play before homework, essay at the end of the week on each subject he had learned – and when he had gotten older, advanced Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. It was no wonder he wasn’t sorted into Ravenclaw, he was so much cleverer than his classmates when he arrived at Hogwarts.

Nevertheless, Harry was swept up into his reputation, whether he wanted it or not. Despite his Slytherin house and his Ravenclaw personality, he was still the Boy-Who-Lived, which seemed to overpower all of his other traits. So whether it was perfectly believable to those who knew him that Harry might _not_ become an auror and might instead become a freelance writer and researcher, well, it was still a scandal.

And if Harry also started to publicly date Draco Malfoy, it was only fuel to the proverbial media fire, and oh had it gone up in flames. Harry found it hard not to think about his relationship with Draco, being in his family’s library, where Harry could vividly remember Draco’s smile as he had asked him to be his boyfriend. It had been so good for a while, too. Harry and Draco had practically grown up together, with Lucius and Severus being such close friends. It had been natural to grow together, to take their friendship and make more of it. It had seemed like the right thing to do, until they had moved in together and nearly killed one another with the arguments and the fights.

There was no reason or explanation for it; they simply could not live together. Harry loved Draco, he still did, really, but it was obvious from the very first month of living in the same house that Harry Potter-Snape and Draco Malfoy were not meant to be. He had no hard feelings, but that didn’t stop Draco from being a git about it.

They hadn’t spoken since Harry had broken things off, Draco’s pride too injured for them to speak to each other like civil adults. It hurt Harry deeply, because while Draco had been his lover for a year, he had been his best friend for his entire life. He had tried several times to approach Draco and repair things, but he had been so volatile and cruel to him that Harry now dreaded any chance of running into him.

So, naturally, being in the Malfoy’s home was setting him a little on edge. He could very well run into Draco at any moment, though he was sure Draco would try to avoid it. It didn’t seem to matter to him that Harry had used to be his best friend. He was content with losing that in favor of maintaining his famous Malfoy pride. Though if you asked Harry, he thought he was being rather ungraceful about it. Neither his mother or father would be so rude, no matter how hurt they were, but Draco was…Draco and he had not yet grown into a man, though he played at one.

Harry shook himself away from his thoughts, he was becoming distracted and he needed to focus. He had important things to worry about.

 

* * *

 

 

Hours later, Harry was no further than he had been before. He pushed another book away to join the piles around him and leaned back in his chair wearily. He was not sure what he had expected, this was very dark magic indeed, and it wasn’t going to be just lying about for anyone to find. He turned toward the door as it opened, smiling weakly at Narcissa as she came in with a sandwich.

“You could’ve sent a house elf with that.” He told her, taking the plate gratefully. Narcissa waved her hand dismissively, turning her eyes toward the stacks of discarded books on the table.

“I see you have had no luck.” She commented. Harry groaned in agreement around the sandwich, placing it aside as a thought struck him.

“He – Voldemort – he wouldn’t have read about horcruxes here, would he?” He asked, voicing his hopes. Narcissa shook her head and his heart plummeted.

“Not that I know of, no. Though he was close friends with Lucius’ father, Abraxas, so it is not impossible that he had been using this manor before Lucius was the head of it.”

“Would the books have changed, or would he have moved them?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know. Though, you do have the horse’s mouth in your bed, don’t you?” Harry blinked in bewilderment, and then his face contracted in thought.

“I mean, yes, I suppose I do. Though I never thought of…asking Voldemort about it. Which seems utterly silly to me now, of course. I somehow doubt he would tell me, however.” He finished.

“Well, it never hurts to try. Besides, you are never going to heal him against his will. He will have to know eventually what you plan to do. I would suggest trying to reach an understanding with him. He is a person, Harry, however distorted of one. I believe he might speak to you, if you make an attempt. Like I told you, there is a connection.”

“I know…I, just never thought of having a conversation with him.” And suddenly Harry was taken aback at what exactly he had done, for perhaps the hundredth time. He had stolen Voldemort from Nurmengard,  _put him in his bedroom,_ and was now going to try to convince him that he needed to reclaim all his horcruxes and become mortal again. And what was in it for Voldemort? Why would he opt for healing when immortality had always been his top priority? What could Harry give him that immortality could not?

 

* * *

 

 

Harry hovered anxiously outside the door to Voldemort’s room. They had barely exchanged twenty words since he had arrived, and none of them had been cordial. Voldemort had kept asking him why he was doing this, but Harry wasn’t really sure. Of course he wanted to help Voldemort, he felt bad for him, felt a connection to him. But none of that really explained the utterly rash actions he had taken to secure Voldemort into his care. There was something much deeper that Harry was unwilling to acknowledge, much less explore.

Voldemort would expect a suitable answer, but Harry wasn’t sure what he would say. He had to somehow convince Voldemort that working with Harry toward his recovery was to his advantage. It was inconvenient then, that Harry was terrified even being in the man’s presence. There was nothing for it, though, so Harry took a steadying breath and walked into the room. He was a little surprised – and maybe a little disappointed – to find Voldemort awake, though he was laying still and staring at the ceiling. Harry approached the side of his bed, setting a tray with food down on the bedside table.

When he turned his gaze back to the bed, he nearly started at the gaze that met his. His eyes were returning to their normal color of scarlet. The cloudiness was gone and his gaze had sharpened back into focus. It set Harry on edge, those eyes, but he braced himself and stared back.

“We need to talk.” He said, pulling a chair to the side of the bed and sitting down. He held his gaze still, feeling as if looking away would be a sign of defeat. Voldemort continued to stare at him blankly for a minute before he turned his head back toward the ceiling.

“I hardly see what there is to discuss. I understand the situation perfectly.” His voice was stronger now, gone was the rasp, and again he sounded like the man of Harry’s nightmares. He looked and sounded the part, but he was harmless, Harry reminded himself. They had stripped his magic, he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone anymore. At least not in the way he knew how to.

“Do you? What exactly do you think is going on?” Harry asked.

“You are acting on your foolish hero complex once more. You think helping me will change who I am. You are unable to accept the fact that I am evil. This is who I am.” Harry hummed, thinking this over. Did he really think that Voldemort reclaiming his horcruxes would make him a good person? Could Voldemort be a _good person?_ He didn’t know, but that was hardly the point.

“For a clever man, you have always been horribly misguided, Tom.” Harry commented. Voldemort’s head snapped toward him, his face pulled into a sneer.

 _“How dare you presume to call me by that name.”_ He hissed, the words pulling into the long syllables of parseltongue. Harry leaned forward in his chair, finding himself feeling terribly brave.

 _“That is your name, isn’t it? Voldemort is the name of a coward who only runs from the truth of who he is. You have always been running, Tom. Isn’t it time to stop?”_ The sneer fell away, and if Harry didn’t know better, he would say that Voldemort looked shocked. He turned away from him again.

“What do you want, boy? I hardly understand why you didn’t leave me to die. I am old and magic-less and evil. You will accomplish nothing by trying to appeal to my better nature. I have no better nature.”

“You used to, didn’t you? Until you ripped it out and put it in that diary, and that ring, and the locket, and the cup, and the diadem, and Nagini. And me.” This time Voldemort turned back to him very slowly, and there was no mistaking the emotion on his face; fear.

“How do you know of this?” He asked quietly.

“It was how we were planning to defeat you. Destroy all the horcruxes and then kill you after you had become mortal. Only plans changed, they decided to let you pay for your actions instead.”

“You would have never found them all.” Voldemort said harshly, though he sounded fearful.

“I know where the diary and the ring are. I have guesses as to where the cup and the diadem are. Dumbledore knows where the locket is.” Harry said, watching for Voldemort’s reaction.

“Is this what you want, to threaten me?” He asked angrily.

“No, it’s not. I told you, I want to help you. But not in the way that you think. See, I know you’re not a good man, and I’m not sure you ever will be. But I know that you are not evil. Back when you were a boy, fully intact, you were hurt and misguided, you had experiences that made you who you are, you made choices that made you this man.”

“I will never be that boy again.” Voldemort snapped.

“No, but you may still be the man you are meant to be. Fully intact. All of your soul within you. Do you even know who you would be if you had all of your pieces back together?” Voldemort looked lost for a moment, his eyes trained on Harry.

“It would never work.” He said after a long moment.

“There are too many, there is not enough of me left to find the strength and remorse to reclaim them. The pain would kill me.” Voldemort mused, his voice strangely soft and almost regretful.

“I have been thinking about that,” Harry conceded “and I think there is a way to make this easier, though it’s strange and magic that I don’t entirely understand. But before I tell you, I want to know that this is something you will work with me on.”

“What is the point?” Voldemort asked, sounding something close to resigned.

“What else is there for you to do?” Harry countered. “The way you are now, there is nothing for you left. Like you said, you are old and magic-less. You have nothing left to lose. You can either work with me to reclaim your horcruxes and face mortality, or lay here for eternity and face a worse kind of death. Not a physical one, but one of the mind. All of your life you have run away from death, but you’ve never actually lived. Now, maybe it won’t work, but maybe it will.”

Voldemort was silent, his scarlet eyes looking over Harry’s face intently. When he finally spoke, it was most human Harry had ever heard him sound.

“Okay.”


	4. Gossamer

“Okay?” Harry echoed, almost shocked that Voldemort had given in so easily. The man gave him a dry look, and Harry gathered himself. He didn’t want this out-of-character acquiesce to wear off with annoyance. Harry realized he was suddenly nervous and rubbed his clammy hands on his trousers. For some reason he hadn’t gotten so far as to imagine actually talking about the connection part. He found that the idea didn’t bother him, which was disturbing in its own right, but also that he was anxious about how Voldemort would react. He feared him rejecting him, and wasn’t that fucking weird?

“Right. Great. Super.”

"Potter.” Voldemort looked a bit exasperated, which was such a strange expression to see on his face – almost…tenderly exasperated?

“Right. Sorry. So the thing is, we’re…connected. There’s the horcrux, but it also goes deeper than that, at least that’s what Narcissa seems to think.” Harry started, keeping his eyes on Voldemort’s even as micro-expressions that he couldn’t quite read moved across his face. He seemed to be struggling a bit, but he didn’t say anything, so he went on.

“Our lives, or souls maybe, I don’t know, they’re entwined and when I saw you in the prison it sort of shifted the connection a bit. Narcissa thinks that it could help you reclaim your horcruxes. If our connection…gets stronger, than I can stabilize you enough to accept the horcruxes.”

Voldemort stared, several emotions passing quickly over his face. Harry’s heart was pounding, but he kept his gaze as steady as possible. He always felt meeting Voldemort’s eyes was a bit of a challenge. It unsettled him while simultaneously thrilling him, and he pushed himself to hold the man’s gaze longer each time they met. To do otherwise was to let him win, and if anything was true about Harry and Voldemort it was that they were undeniably equal.

“You…surprise me.” Voldemort said quietly.

Harry blinked, thrown off-kilter by this unexpected response. His eyebrows furrowed, and Voldemort’s eyes flicked up to rest on the gesture for half a second before resting on his mouth for another, and then settling on his eyes. Harry had no idea why this made his heart skip a beat, but pushed it off for further thought later.

“That’s…not what I expected you to say.” Harry admitted.

“This connection. Doesn’t this unsettle you?” Voldemort asked, watching Harry so closely it made him want to squirm in his seat.

“Less than you might expect.” Harry answered honestly, his face heating up slightly at the admission. Voldemort’s thin lips pursed minutely and then he…smiled? If you could call it that anyway. In reality it was so subtle it could hardly pass as a smile, but when you are raised by someone like Severus Snape, you grow accustomed to reading subtle gestures. On Voldemort, it was the equivalent of a smile, in any case.

“If I am to guess correctly, there are several consequences of intentionally strengthening this bond.”

“Yes. I don’t know the entirety of it, but Narcissa mentioned sharing personality traits and becoming…close.”

“I am assuming it will be your influence which will help me feel remorse. Interesting concept, despite being dreadfully sentimental.”

“You don’t really have much choice, do you?” Harry pointed out. Voldemort narrowed his eyes slightly, but tilted his head in agreement. Another moment of nearly uncomfortable eye contact and then Voldemort leaned toward him. Harry held his breath, caught in his gaze somehow.

 _“Are you sure you’re prepared to purposefully entwine yourself with me, boy?”_ Harry shivered slightly, his fingers tightening in his trousers. When those red eyes sharpened in on him and he spoke like that, it was easy to imagine the Voldemort of his nightmares sitting before him. Though no fear crept into him - only a sharp, sick, thrill of excitement.

 _“Yes.”_ He responded boldly, feeling triumph when that tiny smile curved Voldemort’s lips.

* * *

 

With an agreement lingering between them, it came down to strengthening Voldemort enough to begin their journey to collect his horcruxes. Severus came several times a week to provide Harry with more potions that he specifically brewed for Voldemort. He was still decidedly unhappy about his son’s decision, but his unease about the situation evened out gradually. He managed to be in the same room with Voldemort, even if he made no effort to speak to him.

Harry fed him for about a week and a half after their discussion, until he could shakily sit in the bed and feed himself. He was more aware for longer amounts of time as his recovery progressed and Harry did his best to supply him with things to read to keep his interest.

It was odd, these times when they would find themselves sitting together and reading. They hardly ever spoke but it didn’t seem quiet.To find a sort of peace with a man he once despised was unexpected to the highest degree, but Harry supposed he might as well get used to it, because it would only get stranger.

About two weeks later, Harry asked Narcissa to come see them. Lucius was irked to say the least and insisted on sitting in the living room even though he refused to see Voldemort. Narcissa seemed as calm as always, settling herself in a chair by Voldemort’s bed with grace. Harry sat beside her, glancing between them anxiously.

“Narcissa. I’ve been expecting you.” Voldemort commented. He was leaning against several pillows with his long pale hands folded in front of him, and as accustomed Harry was to seeing him wearing muggle clothing lounging in his bed, he had to admit it made a strange sight. Narcissa took it in stride, nodding in greeting.

“I was hoping Narcissa could help us understand the connection a bit better.” Harry explained, to which Voldemort gave a nod.

“I’m assuming Harry has told you the basics, but I will explain a bit more now that I have you both here.” Narcissa began, folding her legs. “From the time Harry was born, it seems that your timelines have been tangled. It was imminent before you even knew of his existence that you two would be connected. Whether you had picked Harry on that night or not, eventually you would have entangled. It was your decision that set events on this path. Several things have occurred that complicate a once simple soul bond – the most important being the horcrux living within Harry. There is also the ancient magic set into place by Lily Potter when she sacrificed herself out of love, and by you when you chose Harry as your equal. These things have muddled and knotted the bond. There is also the shift set into motion when Harry saw you near death in prison several weeks ago. It is my belief that this undid some of the damage done previously, and thus it will be easier now to unknot some of the complications in your original, pure bond.”

“How will we know how to unknot it?” Asked Harry.

“You will likely need my help in the beginning, as this takes quite an extensive knowledge of magical signatures and on top of that, a great amount of energy. Normally, you two combined would be strong enough to sustain it, but with Voldemort in this state and the complications of the situation, I will need to be here to stabilize you.”

“And how will we look at my magical signature if it has been snuffed out?” Voldemort asked, sounding bitter.

“I assure you, it is still there. Our first goal is to strengthen your overall bond, which should jolt your magical signature out of stagnation. After this initial connection, it is imperative that we continue to work on the bond. Once we begin we cannot go back. It is too unstable, and until you are in a stable state, this will be draining on Harry. The longer it takes to unknot the bond and reclaim the horcruxes, the more exhausting it will be for Harry. It might even progress to painful or life threatening. As the bond recovers and the first few horcruxes are accepted, it will get easier. These next couple weeks will be the hardest. Luckily, if this first attempt goes well, you will regain some of your strength and you will be able to begin the process with the horcruxes.” Harry took a deep breath at this. He had never assumed this was going to be easy, of course, but it didn’t stop him from being anxious about this. He turned and met Voldemort’s eyes, which had settled on him moments ago.

_“Still sure this is what you wish to do? It will be forever.”_

_“It was always going to be forever.”_

_“Yes, but now you cannot, will not, be able to ignore it.”_

“I’d _choose this over the emptiness every time.”_ Voldemort’s brow creased lightly, though Harry couldn’t tell if it was from confusion or distress.

 _“You can’t tell me you didn’t feel it too.”_ Harry challenged. Being this honest was making his heart race, but as they stood on the cusp of bonding themselves to each other irreversibly, it seemed the only thing to do.

“No, I suppose I can’t.” Voldemort agreed softly, dropping rapidly out of parseltounge. Harry swallowed and turned to Narcissa. She seemed to be struggling not to flinch at the hissing language and she pulled it off quite well, smoothing her face over as they left their private conversation.

“Alright,” said Harry, “let’s get started.”

* * *

 

Narcissa instructed them to sit close together and grasp hands. Harry moved his chair closer, reaching out for Voldemort’s spidery thin hand. The expectation of pain passed unfounded just as surely as it had before. They twined their fingers together naturally, and Harry found that it was less strange than he thought. Voldemort’s hand felt pleasantly cool to the touch, and their fingers fit well together. An odd feeling of déjà vu hit Harry, like perhaps he had done this many times before though certainly this was the first.

“Eventually you should be able to do this without touching, but for now it will help.” Narcissa commented, casting a privacy and locking charm on the door before coming to stand in front of them.

“Harry, if you are using occlumency, open your mind.” Harry did so, ignoring the sassy “unlikely” that Voldemort muttered under his breath. Narcissa fought a smile and cast a silent spell. There was a soft tugging feeling in the center of Harry’s chest, and then the room begin to illuminate slowly. An intricate silver web appeared around them, joined by very faint overlapping and entwined scarlet. Dispersed throughout were silver and red knots, bundling the glowing strings together like tangled wire. Within the very center of some knots was a cloudy black center which undulated gently. Harry gaped slightly, and a glance at Voldemort revealed a much more reserved expression of shock.

“The brighter, silver webbing is Harry. This faint red is Voldemort. As you can see it’s rather thoroughly intertwined. The red and silver knots are the complications I mentioned, the darker ones are particularly severe damage. There are seven black spots, not a coincidence, by any means.” Narcissa informed, motioning carefully toward the knots.

“Harry; carefully reach out and touch a red strand. Gently…” Harry took a steadying breath and extended a hand. Carefully he stroked the back of his hand over a concentration of red strands. They rippled over his skin like warm water and he heard Voldemort give a sharp gasp and felt him tighten his grip.

“Good, focus on those strands and think about them getting brighter. Think about the light from the silver strands of your magic lending light to the red. Think about wanting to make the bond between the silver and red stronger.”

Harry stroked the red strands and willed them to get stronger. The tugging on his chest increased slightly, and he egged it on. He did want the bond to get stronger. The silver and the red belonged together, he could feel it. Yes, this was right. Voldemort felt right. Light spread out from his fingers and through the web, illuminating the scarlet strands.An overwhelming feeling of pleasure bloomed in Harry’s chest and the silver strands hummed and tightened around the red, nuzzling together adoringly and giving off a giddy pink glow.

“Harry.” Voldemort gasped, his voice strained. Harry realized that Voldemort was gripping his hand very tightly and he turned to face him. Voldemort’s eyes were wide and he pulled him suddenly closer, his expression imploring and confused. Harry sat on the edge of the bed without a thought, reaching out to grab the man’s other hand.

_“What is it?”_

_“It…it’s so much. It’s not just the magic coming back. I feel…I feel.”_

_“Shh, it’s okay. It won’t tear you apart, I promise.”_

“Keep touching each other, I’m going to slowly end the spell.” Narcissa did so, and the tugging on Harry’s chest eased and then faded. He felt suddenly exhausted, leaning forward on Voldemort’s hands for support.

“You will be very tired for a while. That was a little more effective than I expected. I suggest that you don’t put too much distance between you for at least a few hours. The bond is stronger, but it is very unstable, there is no saying what kind of side effects it will have. Follow your instincts and don’t question what the bond calls you to do. I will need to return tomorrow morning. We have little time.” Harry nodded, too tired to do anything else. Narcissa laid a hand on him in goodbye and then they were alone.

Voldemort’s fingers were still locked around his, and then Voldemort was pulling him down into the bed. Part of Harry knew this should feel wrong, but it was squashed quickly as their bodies settled against one another. Voldemort pulled the blankets up and wrapped his arms around Harry, whose head fit disturbingly well into the crook of Voldemort’s neck.

“This is mental.” Harry mumbled tiredly. Voldemort’s arms tightened impulsively.

“How humorous fate can be.” He commented, though he sounded rather shell shocked and not amused in the slightest.

“Probably should’ve cuddled our problems away years ago.” Harry said, already feeling sleep pulling him under.

“It appears so.” Voldemort replied, a slight tone of awe in his voice that Harry missed because he was already asleep.

* * *

 

When Harry awoke, it was pitch dark. He was incredibly warm and he nestled closer to the source. Even once his brain acknowledged Voldemort’s form wrapped around his, he couldn’t quite react the way he felt he should. It felt completely right, and Narcissa had said not to fight it. He had the feeling that something bad would happen if he left the bed right now. So he stayed and ignored the inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Ron Weasley.

He became aware that he was on his side now, and Voldemort had instinctively curled around his back. Their legs were tangled together, and Voldemort’s hand rested loosely on his stomach. It was incredibly intimate, and the slightly hysterical voice in his head supplied that he was indeed spooning with Voldemort.

He wasn’t sure how but he woke said man, who roused by pressing himself closer to Harry and humming.

“Harry.” He said quietly.

“Yes, Tom?”

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

When Narcissa arrived the next morning it was without Lucius, but with a rather unexpected group of people. They entered the guest room and suddenly Harry finally felt the appropriate amount of discomfort with the situation. It had been easy to ignore when it had just been Voldemort and himself, and even Narcissa, but somehow the added audience of Severus and Hermione made it not so easy. It didn’t help that Hermione looked slightly traumatized and Severus was sneering fiercely.

Harry and Voldemort were sitting side by side on the bed, their hands laying casually on top of one another. They hadn’t dared separate since Narcissa left, afraid of the ramifications of their unstable bond.

“I wasn’t expecting quite so many people, Narcissa.” Voldemort commented, looking over Hermione and Severus with little emotion.

“Yes, well. This turned out to be quite a bit more to handle than I anticipated and Severus and Hermione are the strongest and most magic sensitive people I know. I think we will need their help to avoid Harry getting hurt.”

They gathered around the bed, Narcissa at the end and Severus and Hermione at either side. Hermione came to stand next to Harry and looked at him with concern.

“Harry, are you sure…” She started hesitantly.

“Yes, Hermione. I’ve never been surer about anything. Trust me on this, okay?” She nodded, though she looked a bit pained.

“Alright, I will cast the spell and then I need you two to stabilize the spell without touching any of the webbing. It cannot withstand outside influence at this time and might react violently. One the signature is projected, I want both Harry and Voldemort to reach out and touch the strands. Go with your instinct. Now the initial connection has been made, it will be rather intuitive. Okay, let us begin.”

The now familiar sensation began, though it was rather gentler than yesterday, which Harry imagined was because there were more people holding the weight. The webbing was much brighter and denser, though the knots and points of cloudy darkness remained.

“Focus on soothing and encouraging the strands together.” Narcissa reminded as Voldemort and Harry both reached out to run their fingers over the glowing strands. When Voldemort’s pale finger brushed gently over the silver strands, Harry felt a sudden warmth blossom in his chest. He wondered if this was what had scared Voldemort so much yesterday, or if it felt different. Harry stroked and caressed the scarlet strands, focused intently on increasing that delicious warmth between them, on sharing it. Their hands tangled thoughtlessly between them as they stroked and rubbed the strands. The feeling of warmth increased, running down his legs and into his toes as they worked.

Eventually their fingers met over a knot of strands. Harry did what felt right and covered Voldemort’s hand with his own, moving gently over the knot. There was a sharp tugging feeling as they touched it, the pressure increasing as they focused. Voldemort shifted behind him, keeping his hand still, but curling his body around Harry’s from behind and wrapping an arm firmly around his waist.

 _“Let go. Whatever is making this hard, let it go, Harry.”_ Harry hadn’t realized that he was clinging to something until Voldemort said this. Doubt crashed over him and the tugging bordered on painful. He gasped, gripping Voldemort’s arm around his waist.

 _“Do you want this, Tom?”_ He asked, voicing his fear. And it was not just a recent fear. It was a deep rooted fear – that Voldemort despised him, thought him insignificant and weak. It caused him great confusion once, when he struggled between hatred and an unexplained ache for Voldemort’s approval that he shoved beneath the surface. It was reasonless, illogical, crazy, but there it was. He really was tethered to Voldemort and he needed his approval.

 _“Yes, Harry. I…I can’t explain it and, and it hurts. As much as I can, I want this. I want you. It’s okay.”_ Harry shook with tears, and the tugging lessened and then faded as the knot unraveled smoothly, becoming one with the rest of the webbing. Harry sagged back against Voldemort’s chest as the spell dissipated. Despite the added help he felt exhausted, though half of it was emotional exhaustion. Voldemort wrapped his arms around him without comment.

The five of them were silent for a long moment, Hermione looking shocked and Severus a mix of distress and concern.

“Rest, Harry. You’ll need it.” Narcissa said, and then Voldemort and Harry were alone again.

Harry was drifting as Voldemort smoothed back his hair, but he still paid attention to every word as he began to talk.

“I’ve never hated you, Harry.” He whispered. “I’ve feared you, all along. You have always been the only thing to make me feel, and that terrifies me, Harry. When I am scared, I react with hate. This is what I’ve made myself to be. All I know how to do is be afraid and to hate. I don’t know what to do with anything else. I…this hurts. And it scares me even more because I can feel myself becoming full. It’s just the beginning. I fear I won’t be able to do it. I’ll fail and it will be even worse because I will be able to regret the man I’ve become and feel sorrow for my failure. I am afraid to feel, Harry.”

Harry fought the exhaustion, turning so he could meet those scarlet eyes in the darkness. They were not sharp or piercing or focused. They were tired and scared, and so human it made Harry’s heart ache. He reached out and touched the flat, white face of his worst enemy, feeling along the ridge of his high cheekbone, the smooth plane of his nose, those thin lips.

“It’s going to be okay, Tom. I’ll be here. I won’t let you fall apart. I promise.”

“Why are you doing this? How can I possibly deserve this kindness?”

“I can’t do anything else. You are just as much a part of me as I am of you. I can no more let you go than I can rip my own heart out.” Voldemort’s face crumpled slightly and he grabbed Harry’s hand, holding it where it was to his face.

“What are you doing to me, Harry Potter?”

_“I’m loving you.”_


End file.
